


The Gaps Filled in Dreams

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Dreams, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consentacles, Lovecraftian, M/M, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ritual Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a gift for Cyberratting on Tumblr; Hanzo's memories of visiting Innsmouth are vague to non-existent at best, but his recurring dreams since then suggest there is an unholy and rather tentacle-filled reason for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gaps Filled in Dreams

He’d had that dream again.

Hanzo woke up soaked in sweat and so hard it hurt, hard enough he couldn’t wait for Jesse to wake up and help him out, and he threw the bedsheets back, shoved his boxers down, and jerked himself off, quick and rough and careless.

He came in seconds, or what felt like seconds, and soon enough Jesse stirred beside him, blinking owlishly before curling Hanzo’s hair around his fingers.

“Same dream?” Jesse asked, and Hanzo nodded, shutting his eyes against a sickening swell of guilt. “Hey,” Jesse said, leaning over to nudge Hanzo’s nose with his own. “It’s okay.”

Hanzo swallowed, didn’t dare bring himself to open his eyes. “What do you remember about Innsmouth?”

He didn’t need to look at Jesse after that. His silence spoke volumes enough.

 

Hanzo could have ignored the dreams if he could just remember Innsmouth. Two weeks of memories were blurry or missing entirely, as if he had spent them violently drunk. Attempts to remember those two weeks only ever seemed to end in headaches or a nauseating sense of *wrong*, and it was as if all he’d taken away from the town was its location and a recurring dream so vivid it felt more like a memory.

And Jesse could not fill in the gaps.

 

Hanzo’s dream sometimes started at different points, but the sequence of events stayed the same.

This time the dream started close to the beginning.

He had woken up in the dream feeling loose-limbed and heavy, strong arms carrying him down an impossibly long corridor of meat, bone, and metal. Somehow, despite the nightmarish surroundings, he wasn’t afraid; it was too warm, the air too humid and strangely sweet for him to feel fear.

He wondered idly if he was being led to the Earth’s womb, or perhaps a god’s.

The corridor opened up onto a much larger room with steps leading up to an altar, and Hanzo was carried up, laid down on the altar, and left there as his blank faced captors retreated to the bottom of the stairs.

Jesse knelt there, surrounded by those same blank faces on all sides, and he struggled against his bonds, angry and frightened. Hanzo tried to reach out to him, to reassure him that he felt fine, but his tongue seemed too heavy to speak with, his limbs too heavy to lift.

Something in the ceiling, or perhaps the ceiling itself, reached down for Hanzo. Shifting masses of tentacles gathered him from the altar and wrapped around his arms, his waist, his legs, supporting him and slowly spread-eagling him.

It was all so slow and sweet, like being dragged through syrup, and he looked down at Jesse and the faceless others, feeling their eyes on him.

Cloth tore, and Hanzo could hear Jesse yelling, hear the faceless captors chanting as the tentacles stroked over his bare skin. Not an inch was left unexplored, the soft, pulsing lengths of them leaving him sensitive and shivery as they flicked between his toes and over his nipples, against the backs of his knees and the insides of his elbows, curling around his neck and his cock and squeezing both just tight enough.

Hanzo knew he was drooling just as surely as he knew he was hard, and more tentacles still slid up between his thighs, licking at his entrance.

He couldn’t please a god, could he?

A slim tentacle worked its way inside him, wriggled excitedly before spurting something slick and pulling out of him slowly, leaving him wet in its absence. Almost as soon as he’d grown used to that strange sensation, a thicker tentacle nudged at his ass, blunt and almost rubbery, and when it forced its way inside him he couldn’t help but let out a broken cry.

Jesse went quiet after that, and Hanzo looked down to see his brown cheeks flushed red, cock straining against his jeans, and Hanzo wished Jesse could enjoy this too, enjoy being fucked by a god, being fucked _like_ a god, feeling the stretch and burn and raw, electric pleasure-pain of tentacles tugging at and sliding against and pushing into every exposed inch of him.

Perhaps the god heard his wish, because in the moments before a second tentacle pushed inside him and a third stuffed his mouth, Hanzo saw three of the faceless figures surround Jesse and strip him bare.

Jesse offered little resistance.

 

It felt like the tentacles fucked him for hours after that, sometimes squirting slick up his ass or down his throat much like that first slim tentacle had, others leaving wet trails on his skin, and he was dripping with it all long before the end of it, his hair soaked, his fingertips wrinkled, his stomach bloated from taking and taking and taking.

And he came, of course. He came after the first three tentacles were done fucking him thoroughly, and he came after the next six had their turn, and another six after that, and he was sobbing before the end, his body trying to come but having nothing to come _with_.

And at the end, Jesse was brought up to him, wet but not soaked because the come on Jesse’s skin was much more human than the come on his own, and the god guided Jesse onto him, into him, fucking his gaping, frictionless hole, and it felt like thanks.

 

That was when he woke up, and just as he rarely remembered anything before the length of that dream, he never seemed to remember anything past that moment, as if he had passed out within the dream itself.

He’d never had dreams like that before, and couldn’t bring himself to tell Jesse even half of it. He’d managed to tell Jesse that he’d dreamt of being fucked by tentacles while Jesse watched, but even if that was the truth of the matter, it felt like a lie because it covered so little of what the dreams contained.

Hanzo curled into Jesse, needing to be close to someone immediately and obviously human, and wondered how he might cleanse himself of his dreams, take away the guilt and the shame of enjoying being so used by something monstrous.

He opened his eyes after a long moment’s thought, licked his lips, and gathered his courage.

“The next time we fuck,” he asked Jesse, “would you bind me?”

To Jesse’s credit, even if his morning wood gave an excited jump against Hanzo’s thigh, he waited a good few seconds before answering, “Fuck, yeah.”


End file.
